


an itch and a tingle

by llyrical



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Kavinsky is his own warning, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Threesome, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyrical/pseuds/llyrical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ronan Lynch is a different story. He’s a wildcard and a wildfire.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	an itch and a tingle

**Author's Note:**

> It's a Wednesday night but it's my Friday because I work retail, so I feel absolutely no shame about staying up late to write smut. 
> 
> Anyways, this is really short and is more of a drabble than anything else. Yeeeah. 
> 
> Title is from "Let It In" by Josh Woodward.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [Prokopinskys!](https://prokopinskys.tumblr.com)

“Proko,” Kavinsky says, in the tone that leaves no room for arguments, “on your knees.”

At any other time, these words would have thrilled him. His knees are scraped and bruised up enough already to be proof of that. 

But not right now. Not like this. 

Not for Lynch. 

Lynch, for what it’s worth, looks a little sick, even as Prokopenko drops to the floor and lets his hands come up to the man’s belt. Or maybe that’s just his face; he usually looks sick when he’s in Kavinsky’s presence at all. 

“Hey, no,” Lynch protests, though Proko is undoing his belt and Lynch is already half-hard in his boxers. Proko doesn’t blame him; he knows what he looks like, down on his knees. “Stop. You don’t have to-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kavinsky snarls, and doesn’t give Lynch much of a choice, as he’s quick to pull him into what looks like a bruising kiss. 

Proko doesn’t care to see it, so he pulls Lynch’s cock out of his boxers and flicks his tongue across the head.

It must take Lynch by surprise, somehow, because Proko hears a choked noise as the man moans into Kavinsky’s mouth. A quick glance up shows K’s hands running over Lynch’s shaved head, looking for a handhold of hair that isn’t there. Proko’s jealousy burns low and hot in his stomach and he takes Lynch’s cock as far as he can into his mouth. 

After a moment, there’s the familiar feeling of a hand gripping his hair, and he jerks his eyes angrily up to Lynch, only to relax when he realizes that it’s K’s hand in his hair. When they lock eyes, K smirks and tightens his hold, simultaneously yanking Proko’s hair and shoving his head down further. 

He moans around Lynch’s cock, because even if he hates this man, he loves the feeling of knowing what this is doing to K. 

“Look at that,” Kavinsky says quietly, in wonder, and Proko knows that he isn’t the one being spoken to. “Gorgeous, isn’t he?” 

Lynch just grunts in response. Another quick glance up shows Prokopenko that Lynch has a hand fisted on the arm of the couch, his head thrown back. Proko wonders how long it’s been since he’s had good head.

He makes quick work of his tongue, ready for this to be over. It’s not that he minds doing it, especially not for K, or even that there’s anything inherently unpleasant about sucking Ronan Lynch’s dick. As far as dicks go, it’s pretty nice. 

But Lynch is only here to relieve frustration, to use K as a quick fuck to get it out of his system. Once he gets off, he’s gone. And Proko will have K all to himself.

Proko hums around Lynch’s cock, pleased with the jerk of hips and low moan that Lynch gives in return. Kavinsky has slid a hand underneath his muscle shirt, likely digging his nails into the lines of Lynch’s intricate tattoo.

Lynch finishes with a groan; K holds Proko’s head down firmly and leaves him no choice but to swallow. When he’s finally allowed to move, his throat is raw and he’s gasping for air. 

With the way that K is staring at him, mouth twisted in a way that says everything his eyes can’t, he can’t bring himself to really care. He’s already rock hard in his shorts.

There’s no fanfare once it’s all done. Lynch is quick to zip up his jeans, grab his keys off the bar, and head up the stairs. 

Prokopenko doesn’t even wait for him to get out of sight before he’s pushing K onto the couch and climbing onto his lap, falling into the rough kiss naturally. 

“You taste like dick,” K says, but it’s more matter-of-fact than anything else.

“Want you,” Proko murmurs against the other man’s lips, grinding his hips down to emphasize the point. 

“Get back on your fucking knees, then.” K is smirking, and even though his eyes are covered by his sunglasses, Proko can imagine exactly what they look like in this moment. 

“No.” Saying that word in K’s presence at all is risky, though Prokopenko attacks him with his lips again in what’s hopefully a distracting move. Nipping at Kavinsky’s bottom lip, Proko mutters, “Wan’ you to fuck me, K. Please.” The _please_ is tacked on as a last-second thought, as Proko knows what his begging does to him.

“Yeah?” K laughs a bit breathlessly against his lips, hands coming down to grab Proko’s ass and squeezing hard enough to sting. Proko just moans at the sensation and rocks his hips downwards again. After the show with Lynch, it wouldn’t have even taken any effort on his part to get Kavinsky hard. 

K licks a stripe up his neck. “Needy little bitch, aren’t cha?”

Proko ignores the way that sends a wave of heat through him, ignores what it says about him that he finds that so hot. Instead, he just tilts his head back further, giving K better access to his throat. Because he knows K will like it, and because it’s true, he says, “Only for you.”

Kavinsky sinks his teeth into Proko’s neck just below the pulse. He pulls Proko closer to him and snarls, “Fuckin’ better be only for me.”

It’s said in a teasingly threatening way, and Proko wonders idly if it made K jealous to see Proko on his knees for Lynch, even if he’d been the one to order it. It was something so different from Proko being with one of the other boys. K wouldn’t have blinked twice if Proko was fucked by Swan in the middle of the living room (as little as Proko really fucked any of them without K having ordered it). All of them belong to Kavinsky and Kavinsky alone, so there’s never any reason for jealousy to spawn; as always, Ronan Lynch is a different story. He’s a wildcard and a wildfire. 

Proko’s fingers dig into K’s sides because they’re shaking, a result of drugs and adrenaline, and because he knows that it’ll make K roll his hips up against Proko’s. It does, and when Proko laughs, it only takes a second for Kavinsky to flip them over and throw Proko down against the couch. 

K bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and Proko’s head swims. 

Of course it’s only for him. It always has been.


End file.
